Work Text:
At 2AM everything seems like a good idea. It wasn’t your first time still being in the office as the moon hung low in the sky, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, any makeup you’d put on optimistically at 8AM the day before had definitely been broken down by your skins oils and dissipated. You turn to the only other person who would possibly be here with you balefully.
“I’m gonna do it, Taichi, this is it. This is the last straw.” Your co-worker blinks at you.
“You don’t mean-”
“I mean it.” You warble, you’d been slaving over how to save the PR strategy you’d spent weeks on, the strategy meant to help boost Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight’s popularity with the groups that were innately turned off by him, and now, at 7PM the previous day, he’d likely ruined all of it. “I’m just gonna change his passwords.”
“Have you seen him?” Taichi hisses, loosening his tie, since the two of you were the only ones in the building.
“No, I mean, not in person.” You shrug. “He doesn’t even know who I am, just some faceless media strategist his agency hired. He might not even notice.” You’ve got your laptop in front of you, the offending tweet front and center. You’ve got light mode on, and the words are seared into your eyelids because of how long you’ve been staring at it.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight Tweeted: another pussy ass villain bitch bites the dust i’m the fucking greatest hero who ever lived.
“He just doesn’t understand.” Taichi says, standing, his dark eyes full of concern. He reaches over, and pats your arm gently, touch lingering just a second too long but you’re too tired to care. Tears burn in your eyes.
“No,” your throat gets tight, “He just doesn’t care.” You login to his account, ignoring the thousands of DMs from women, and men, and something catches your eye, oh shit, a few verified accounts that he was, you check, also ignoring. You click the little gear indicating settings. “Listen,” you look up at Taichi, exhausted, tired, done. “He probably won’t even notice, like he strikes me as the kind of guy who barely cares about social media.”
“It’s your funeral.” Taichi says, flashing his palms, “Not that I won’t uh,” he thinks about it, “I mean I could offer to protect you or something but I think you’d see through the machismo given that Bakugou Katsuki is like, 6’5.” Your mouth goes dry.
“I mean, he wouldn’t hurt me, right? We have security in the building.” You say, nervously, and Taichi laughs.
“He’s like the number 8 pro hero, and next year his ranking’s going to be even higher, given that he’s definitely getting press, and making saves. Even if the press is more for him being an asshole.” You shake your head slowly.
“This is, this is just me doing my job.” You click the password tool and select the process for changing the password and logging out all other instances of the account.
“What are you going to change it to?” Taichi asks, hovering over your shoulder. You think about it for a moment.
“It would be funny to change it to my name, since the reason we’ve never met is that he hasn’t shown up to a single meeting with me that he was supposed to be at.” You roll your neck, your feet are aching in your uncomfortable office appropriate shoes.
“Relax for me,” Taichi says, his hands finding purchase on your shoulders, massaging the sore muscles. Your face gets hot.
“Oh um,” you mumble, “I’m, I’m relaxed enough.” He laughs.
“Alright, alright, whatever.” He releases you, going over to the other side of the table, watching you with his palms flattened against it.
“I’ll just make it um,” you wrack your brain, “DidacticTetrameter34%.” Taichi laughs, loudly at you.
“The hell is that?”
“It’s the meter,” you yawn, “That epic poetry is written in.”
“Alright.” He says and you click the change password button, then select, log out on all over devices, making sure it goes through before closing your laptop and slipping it into your purse. “Split a taxi home?” He asks and you nod, letting him open the door for you. You clomp down the stairs and then look at him sleepily as he leads you through the lobby.
“Am I gonna regret this after I’ve slept?” You muse, fighting another yawn.
“Nah.” Taichi says. “He had it coming. He pays us to manage his media appearance, this is us doing our job.” You nod, chewing the inside of your lip apprehensively.
“Do you think he’s scary in person?” You ask, the summer air heavy with water.
“I bet he’s a total softie.” Taichi says, grinning, opening the taxi door for you.
“Really?” You say, heart beat slowing, eyes wide.
“No.” Tachi snorts, and you relax against the black leather seat with a moan.
The next morning is largely uneventful, you curse your alarm clock, struggle into your pencil skirt and heels, take extra care with your makeup to give the appearance of a good nights sleep, and make your way to your office. You work in there, nervously glancing out across the lobby. He’s missed every meeting, you remind yourself, he probably doens’t even know where your building is. You finally peek your way out of your office around noon, walking quickly to the break room to get coffee.
“Hiding?” Taichi calls, when hes sees you.
“Why would she be hiding?” Another one of your co workers, Kiyoko asks, fixing her glasses. You swallow, nervously fidgeting.
“She changed the Great Explosion Murder Gods passwords last night.”
“Actually,” you smile nervously, your natural shyness taking hold. “Colloquially he’s The Great King Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight .”
“You know, that little crush of yours probably isn’t going to help when he comes to Great Explosion Murder you,” Taichi teases, and you squeak, shaking your head at him.
“I do not have a crush on him!” You cross your arms and stalk off. “I’m getting coffee and then going back to my office.”
“Suit yourself.” Kiyoko says, clearly mystified by the interaction. You take your time in the breakroom, you drink your coffee black, but there’s a science to adding the right amount of ice cubes that make it drinkable right away. You step back out into the office, and your heart stops. Bakugou Katsuki, all 6’5(and three quarters, he’d remind reporters some times, you’d instructed him to stop doing that because it actually made him seem shorter) of him, thunders into your office in his full hero costume.
“Oh!” The receptionist cries, as you duck behind a ficus. “You’re ah, The Explosion God of Murder, Dynamight?”
“A-actually,” you pipe up, cursing yourself. “His full registered hero name is The Great King Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight .” There’s a silence, as the blonde crosses his arms.
“Why are you behind a tree?” He asks.
“Ah, a ficus.” You correct, and then bury your face in your palms as he raises his eyebrows. “I, oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that.” You make no move to get out from behind the plant.
“Doesn’t answer my question.” He says, lumbering forward. You take a step back, your face warming.
“No reason.” You squeak.
“The fuck are your hands shakin’ like that for?” He narrows his eyes, “You a diabetic or somethin’?” You close your eyes and take a deep breath.
“No.” You say, very quietly. “I’m your account manager.” His scowl deepens, and his red eyes blaze as he gives over to his temper.
“So you’re the person who can tell me why the hell I woke up this morning signed the fuck out of my accounts?” His voice gets louder. “They’re my fuckin’ accounts, I’m gonna say the shit I want to say on them!” There’s an awkward silence. If your ears weren’t ringing you’d be able to see the rest of your co workers ducking into cubicles and offices. Your heart pounds, and you glance over your shoulder at the fire exit. “Well?” He demands, lowering his volume but his tone still cuts like a knife.
“M-maybe we could g-go to my office!” You stammer, “And just, um talk there.” You look around, for Kiyoko, for Taichi, for your manager, anyone, but he just keeps walking forward and you keep walking back.
“Fine.” He gestures down the hallway. “Unless you want to meet behind the ficus.” You swallow, shaking your head. Bakugou watches the tremors of hands manifest in other nervous ticks as you walk ahead of him in silence, eyes flicking from the blisters on the back of your ankles to literal shiver that runs up your spine when you open your office door for him. He takes a seat in one of the plastic chairs in front of your desk, it groans under the weight of his considerable muscle. You set your now tepid coffee mug down on the desk, and turn to him, summoning every ounce of courage in your body.
“S-so,” you say, resting your hands on the table, knitting them together to stop their trembling, “I-I kicked you out of your accounts, at around 2AM last night.” He leans back in the chair, looking thunderous.
“And why the hell would you do that?” He roars, a decibel level your certain the entire office can hear.
“Because,” you say desperately, trying to summon some of the clarity you’d felt the night before. “Your agency paid us to m-manage your media presence, and you can’t, you can’t DO shit like,” you catch yourself a second after the word falls from your lips and a wide smirk stretches across his face.
“You were sayin’?” He says, and you sigh.
“You can’t tweet things like calling villains a um,” you pause, “What you tweeted yesterday was beyond inappropriate for the image you are paying us a lot of money to manage. That’s all. So I ki-kicked you out of your accounts.”
“At 2AM.” He says, in a more reasonable tone of voice. You swallow, trying to bring some moisture back to your mouth. “Why ya workin’ at 2AM?” He asks, leaning back in the chair.
“None of your business.” You say quickly. “I’m, I’m sorry, it’s not like I haven’t, you know, emailed you about all of this.” He glances at how tightly your holding your own hands.
“I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He says, “You can relax a little.”
“W-with all due resp-spect,” you stutter, “Uh, Great King Lord Explo-plosion Murder God D-dynamight,” fuck you must have no idea, what it’s doing to him to hear you say that, to hear you call him, lord, king, god, in that soft, sweet voice. “You have not exactly behaved in a professional m-manner.” You inhale deeply through your nose. “I-if you want, I can walk you through your media plan, the one your agency requested.” He studies you.
“Dynamight’s fine.” He says after a long moment, lifting a huge hand. You seem, terrified of him, “Is this,” he gestures to your demeanor, “About me or about you?”
“Me definitely.” You say, so fast you slur the words together. He nods.
“Walk me through my media package.” He leans back in his chair, and it creaks again. “Start at the beginning.” You let out a short sharp breath.
“On one condition.” You look up at him, determination in your face. “You will not yell at me again.” He gives you a lazy little salute with a grin.
“Scouts honor.” You stand, and walk to the white board, grabbing a marker.
“Creating a media persona is best d-done with building blocks you already have,” you draw a stick figure on the board, and he snorts. “P-please,” you raise your eyebrows and he shrugs. “I’m not an artist.” You swallow, and he struggles to keep his eyes on your face, there’s something about the genuine fear in your eyes that’s making his cock warm and heavy in his pants, “But what you h-have, raw materials, right,” you list things out, drive, passion, integrity, explosion quirk. “H-how do we take these things, the three defining part of y-your personality, and make them ap-appeal to the widest breadth of people possible. The q-quirk is just ah,” you take another deep breath, “Part of the marketing, b-but it doesn’t have to define your persona.” You look at him.
“Keep goin’.” He says, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Start with drive.” You press your lips together.
“I’m not, this isn’t, I’m not trying to ah, compliment you, this is just how you do this.”
“Easy.” He says, attempting to look reassuring. “Just do your thing.” You nod.
“Um, so drive is easy, you want things, you go get them, it’s admirable,” you draw a little bubble around it. “Passion, ah, you yell so much, it’s a good thing you usually yell about things that are important, but even if it’s not, the thing you’re yelling about is important to you, it’s not like, a display of force.”
“But you don’t like it.” He cuts in.
“No.” You let out a long breath. “I really dislike it when people raise their voice at me.” He takes stock of you, eyes narrowing as he sees the slightly quickened rise and fall of your chest, the tremors you can’t stop, your worsening stutter.
“Is that why you’ve kept givin’ this presentation even though you’re clearly havin’ a panic attack?”
“I dislike being yelled at.” You repeat, closing your eyes. “I’ll just finish.” He shrugs, holding a hand up while he slips out of his gauntlets. They look strange, next to your ordinary office desk.
“Sorry.” he says gruffly. “For yellin’ atcha then.”
“Okay,” You say, breezing on, he bristles a little when you don’t accept his apology. “So, Drive, and Passion, neither of which are inherently, um likeable traits.” You glance at him, and he shrugs again. “So the thing, the thing that ties all of this together, right, is this,” you circle integrity. “You’re a good p-person, trying to make the world b-better. And deep down, whether the cameras are on or not, you do the right thing.”
“How did you decide this shit?” He says, gesturing towards the board. You wince and he narrows his eyes. “I’m not gonna yell again, just tell me.”
“Ah, drive and passion exist to turn possible negatives into positives, you’re comp,” you swallow, “Competitive, and ambitious, so they’re spins.”
“And the integrity?” He asks, you close your eyes, heart hammering.
“I fought for that.” Your hands fall to your sides. “Because um, I’ve seen, you do things.” You finish lamely.
“Seen me do things?” He rumbles, raising his eyebrows.
“You ah, you’re one of the only heroes that c-carries narcan,” you say, and he nods, “You uh, you saved a mans life once, who um, who was ODing. That m-man was my dad.” Your hands twist in front of you, “So, um, I fought to make sure the marketing agency didn’t, um, didn’t drop you as a client, I um, I took on your account.” You swallow. “Because um, integrity.” He looks shocked.
“They were gonna drop me?” He growls.
“A-after you tweeted out something like,” He watches you lean over your desk flipping a binder that he can see has some of his tweets in it, “Oh it was this one, um, ‘can’t believe the public hero commission can afford a new deku billboard but i can’t expense someone to suck me off while I do bullshit paperwork.’” The words hang in the air for a second, Bakugou considers whether he should feel embarrassed, it’s already so much work to keep his eyes from your figure, only sneaking peripheral glances at your ass when you’d turned around to write on your whiteboard. Before he can respond, though, you continue. “I’ve been emailing you.” You mumble. “Or um, your assistant.” You take another deep breath, and sit back down, pushing the binder across the desk and taking a sip of your coffee. He blinks at you for a moment, then smirks.
“So you’re a fan.”
“No.” You say firmly. “No I just, I think you’re a good hero.”
“So if I dig in your closet,” he leans forward, “I wouldn’t find a single piece of Dynamight merch in there?”
“Nope.” There’s a slight squeak to your voice that makes him shake his head, slowly.
“Uh, uh,” he growls, a smug smile on his lips, “Tell the truth.”
“Fine.” You press your lips together. “One T shirt. It was a gift.” You take another sip of coffee. “I’m not um, I’m not giving you your passwords back. You can earn them.”
“I can earn them?” He repeats back to you, and you nod, hoping the rush of courage and adrenaline stays with you.
“Yes,” you say, sucking on your bottom lip for a second. “One week without any negative press, no picking fights with other heroes, or showboating and destroying property, or yelling at fans, and you can have them back.”
“Your stutter’s gotten better.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I’m not having a panic attack anymore.” You explain, letting out a long breath.
“It can help,” He offers, “To ground yourself by focusing on little objects around you, like counting the leaves on your uh,” he smirks, “Ficus.” His eyes flick from your lips back to your face. “Shouldnta yelled at you.” He stands. “Will ya let me make it up to you?”
“I already told you how you can e-earn your passwords back.” You say, and he shakes his head.
“Nah, like, lemme make you dinner.”
“D-dinner?” Your stutter rushes back in full force. “L-like a date?”
“Yeah.” He says. “Stutter’s cute, but I wanna see you chill out a little.” You take a deep breath.
“Yeah, um, okay, I-”
“Say my full registered hero name again,” he says, a wide mean smile spreading across his face, enjoying the way you squirm, hands doing a dance on top of your desk.
“Y-you’re The Great King Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” He reaches out, slowly, making sure you have time to pull away if you want to before he brushes some hair out of your face, tucking it neatly behind your ear.
“Relax.” He says. “I’m gonna earn my password back, and you’re not workin’ late tonight.” He leans over and scribbles his number on a piece of paper, pretending not to notice that your skin had erupted into goosebumps at his touch. “I’ll pick you up at 5.” He stands. “Anythin’ I can do to uh, help ya with that?” He gestures to all of you. “You still seem jumpy.”
“Ah, like-”
“Like, this,” He opens his arms, and it’s like your feet move on your own, letting him clutch you to his chest, “Fuck your heart’s racin’, I’m not gonna yell again alright, chill the fuck out.” You sigh against him, attempting to try to relax, then attempting not to get caught up in the oxymoron of trying to relax, then- “Oi,” he growls, “I can hear your brain goin’, I said chill out, okay?” You nod, and he lifts your chin up so that you can see his face. “If you’re not a fan,” he breathes, “Then this won’t mean anythin’ to ya.” He bends down, his eyes fluttering shut as he presses his soft lips against yours, his hand coming up to cup your face, guiding your movements with a thumb resting on the plush of your hot cheek. He pushes forward, backing you up against the whiteboard in your office.
You feel his lips leave yours, dragging across your cheek and onto the pulse point at the end of your jaw, just below your ear, as his hands move lower, resting for a moment on your hips before grabbing at your waist, flattening your hips against the wall.
“Baby,” you feel his breath on your ear before the vibrations make you squirm, the low, dark quality of his voice making your stomach do a backflip, “Just focus on me, yeah?” You feel his lips on the shell of your ear, then his teeth, then his tongue swiping down the soft skin of your neck, his hands moving up to palm your breasts through your bra and shirt, as you let out a soft moan. “That’s it,” he growls, “Give in to me, alright baby?” You feel him slot a muscular thigh between yours.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, as you feel his mouth on your neck, his hands find your pebbled nipples and rubs his thumbs across them before pinching them hard, “Fuck, Dynamight.”
“Mmh,” he groans, coming back up to kiss you again, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet huh,” you turn your burning face away from his and he grips it roughly in one hand, “Look at me,” he growls, as you let out a soft little whimper. It sends his heartbeat into overdrive, and he reaches down and hikes your tight little skirt up around your waist.
“C-can I touch you?” You whisper, and he chuckles darkly,
“What a good fuckin’ girl you are,” he almost coos, “Yes you can, baby,” and at his permission he’s shocked at how fast you wind your arms around his neck and grind down on his muscular thigh. “Gonna get off like that?” he asks quietly, and you nod, mewling softly, your eyes huge and round, you can’t focus on anything but him, on his hands, now roughly squeezing your breasts, just on the edge of a painfully tight grip, when he drops them, pain blooming across your thigh as he slaps the outside of it hard. You immediately still your hips and relax against the wall. “Did I say,” he growls, every syllable a threat, “You could get off like that?”
“No,” you whisper, his mouth so close to yours that when he leans in it’s like you’re speaking into his lips. “M’sorry.”
“If we weren’t in your office,” he leans over to rumble into your ear again, “I’d take you over my fuckin’ knee for that,” He pulls back and watches your pupils dilate, you’re melting in his hands. He reaches between your legs, slipping your panties to the side, “Yeah, you like that?” You avert your eyes and he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him, “I asked you if you fuckin’ like the idea of me spankin’ that pretty little ass of yours red?”
“I,” you breathe, “Y-yes Dynamight, I do, um I do like it.” His eyes narrow, he didn’t usually have girls call him by his hero name, but there’s something about the soft sigh of your voice, the pent up breath behind the hard first consonant that’s driving him almost to genuine madness.
“You’re still thinkin’ too much.” He says, parting your folds with a cool finger, collecting some of your slick with his digit before ghosting a light touch to your clit. “That’s it,” He breathes, watching your eyelids flutter at his surprisingly gently touch, “That’s it, just focus on me,” you feel him slip a single finger inside you, while grinding his thumb against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure throughout your body that makes your knees shake.
“F-fuck,” you choke out, eyes wide in the sweetest, most innocent way, “Dynamight,” you gasp, “Please, feels,”
“That’s it baby,” he says, watching them glaze over, “Let go for me, that’s a good fuckin’ girl.” You nod, humming in ecstasy as he curls it inside of you,
“Can I have more?” You ask shyly, and god if he doesn’t want to give you everything he owns when you speak in that soft whisper, like leaves rustling in the wind, “Can take it, promise,” you almost plead, but there’s no whine, no need, like you’re so grateful for what he’s given you so far. He leans in and kisses you, feeling you gasp into his mouth when he adds a second finger, your walls soft, sucking him in further. He curls them a little, experimentally, and you act like he’s ripped the breath from your lungs, sliding an inch down the wall,
“You’re so sensitive,” He sinks his teeth into your neck and you bite down on a yelp, “Too much?” he asks, still fucking you with his fingers so hard that your words come slowly.
“No, please,” you swallow, begging, “More,” he grins, perfect. He bites down on your neck again, reveling in the way you squirm and hum at the pleasure mixed with pain.
“You like it rough,” he growls, “Don’tcha,” you’re so lost in pleasure you’re barely holding your body up, your knees shaking, “You act like such a good little thing,” he leans into your ear again, “But deep down you’re a filthy fuckin’ slut huh, do this often? Get fucked in your office?” He’s not surprised when you shake your head, eyes full of concern, but your words absolutely demolish the careful restraint he’d been exercising with you.
“Just f-for you,” you warble, and he crashes his mouth against yours, stopping his ministrations, tangling both of his hands in your hair, his kiss all teeth and tongue and sloppy ecstatic passion. He rips you from the wall and bends you over your desk so quickly you’re nearly dizzied by the speed. You feel his hands on your ass, and then the tip of his cock rubs against your folds. “Please,” you beg again, “Please, I’ll be, I’ll be good,” you turn around to look at him, completely lost in anything that isn’t him, anything that isn’t his hands on your body, the head of his cock pressing against your pulsing sensitive clit. He’s nearly taken aback by your submission, the fact that you think after all that, you still need to beg, to offer him anything for his cock, his mouth curls into an evil smile.
“You’ll be good huh?” He says roughly, teasing you, watching you wiggle your ass inyour desperation for him, for sensation, for something- “You on birth control?”
“Mhm,” you confirm, nodding, as he slaps your ass harshly, dulling the sound as best he can,
“You are a good girl then,” he pushes right up to your entrance, and he watches you get excited and your face fall, and waits for the inevitable whine, but it doesn’t come, you just bite down on your lower lip, tears gathering in your eyes. “You want it so badly,” he realizes, “You’re fuckin’ cryin for it.” You swallow.
“Y-yes,” and you don’t get another word out, he pounds into you, sheathing himself inside you fully all at once, sucking all the air from your lungs as he sets a brutal pace, watching your plush lips part as your mouth drops open, the heavy slap of his balls against you, the way he’s rolling his hips so that he’s hitting that spongey spot inside of you with every thrust. He’s losing a bit of his composure, your cunt is warm, and wet and soft, and the little gasps you make every time he buries himself to hilt are driving him insane.
“Fuck,” he snarls, shoving his hands under your shirt and raking his nails down your back, and in response to the pain you let out another soft moan of his hero name so he does it again and gets the pleasure of watching you catch your lower lip between your teeth. Every thrust is so hard he’s rocking the desk a little, your lamp flickering as he feels you clamp down on him harder. He takes a fistful of your hair and yanks you to a standing position as he continues to piston inside you, “Cum for me,” he rasps in your ear, “Cum for me, right fucking now, slut.” He hits the t hard, and he’s nearly shocked at how quickly you obey, vaulting off of the cliff of your orgasm, hiccuping some amalgamation of syllables that he thinks might be Dynmight, as he reaches around you and rubs your puffy little clit, carrying you through your high as you twitch and gasp in his arms. “That’s it’ baby,” he says, “And now I’m gonna cum inside ya, ya want that, tell me how badly you want it?”
“Please,” The word falls from your mouth like water, “Please I want your cum in my pussy, please, fill me up w-” He cuts you off with a loud groan, maybe too loud for the office setting, slamming you back down on his desk so that he can chase his own high while kneading at your ass roughly. He collapses on top of you as he paints your walls white, chest rising and falling rapidly as he feels your cunt flutter and tighten around him, like it’s milking him dry. “Oh my fucking, god,” he chockes out, “Fuck.” You whimper a little, and he stands, gathering you into him and sitting in your office chair, letting you curl up in his lap. You’re so sweet, you just cry gently into his chest as you come down from your high. There’s a pause.
“This doesn’t mean I’m giving you your passwords.” You mumble. He nods, laughing a little.
“Figured.” He rubs your back, tucking your head under his chin. “Still feel like an ass for losin’ it on ya.” You sigh.
“I forgive you.”
“You can call me Katsuki.” He says, almost surprising himself with how easily he gives up his given name. “Not that I don’t like hearin’ you say Great Explosion Lord Murder-” You whirl around him in his lap,
“You just got it wrong!” You giggle. “You got it wrong!” He shakes his head at you, his hands on your waist.
“Watch yourself.” He growls, the evil smile back on his face, and fuck, if you don’t melt completely in his hands. “What a good fuckin’ girl,” he muses, lifting you up and setting you on your feet. “I’ll make ya somethin’ good tonight.” You nod, and he stands, straightening up a little, smoothing your collar and fixing his hair. “Not gonna say anythin’ about me cookin’?”
“Uh as someone who has deleted your critical comments on nearly every large cooking channel on youtube,” His mouth drops open, and you hold up a hand, “Yes I have an alert set, yes it has woken me up before, and yes I’ve dove for my phone to get it before anyone sees.”
“You’re somethin’ else.” He shakes his head.
“I’ll walk you out.” He stops you before you open the door, smoothing your hair.
“List out the things I’m not allowed to do,”
“Oh we don’t have time for that!” Your eyes widen, “Just um, be nice! Think about your qualities, right, passion, drive, integrity.” He nods. “Don’t um, be afraid to lead with the last one.” He rolls his eyes.
“I’ll see you at 5.”
“See you at um, at 5.”
Bakugou emails you to let you know he’s down stairs, the engine of his sleek black sports car still running as he leans against it, waiting for you to depart the huge glass office building. He’s dressed for a date, black t-shirt, black jeans, dark sunglasses protecting him from the setting sun. You come out a few minutes later, clearly troubled.
“Honestly,” he overhears the man you’re walking with sigh, “I can’t believe you didn’t know I wanted you, why else would I work late with you so much?”
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, “I’m just, I’m not,” Bakugou watches your coworker slip an arm around your waist, and you try to squirm away and strides over just in time to hear Taichi say,
“Don’t be a bitch,” he moans, “Let’s just get a drink, it’s not cool of you to lead me on-”
“Take your fuckin’ hands off her.” Bakugou snarls, “Or I’ll break ‘em.” Taichi scowls.
“Is this how he got his passwords back?” He says, ignoring the huge blonde pro hero, “Shoulda known you’d whore yourself out to the King of Murder and Explo-.” Bakugou’s fist collides with his face so quickly you don’t even have time to react.
“It’s um,” you pipe up, unable to calm the urge. “It’s actually The Great King Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” Taichi stumbles backwards swearing, and Bakugou hooks an arm around your neck.
“I’ve got more comfortable shoes waitin’ for ya at my apartment.” You sigh happily, feeling the pinch of your heels.
“You’re really a dream, you know that?” You turn to look at him, your face golden in the dying light.
“Nah,” He says, opening the car door. “Just a King. And a God.” You snort, and he continues, “Of y’know, explosion, and murder.”
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” You flop into his front seat and he closes the door, getting in on his side and revving the engine. He reaches over and squeezes your knee.
“So what, when I’m punchin’ guys who are bein’ an asshole to ya I get a pass?” You laugh, and nod.
“Yes, unfortunately, in the case of your passwords, I am the judge, jury and executioner.” He stops at a red light, leans over and kisses your cheek.
“Can I get off early on good behavior?”
“I’m um,” your face warms, “Unfortunately not s-super interested in you getting off early.” He cackles.